


Night is a veritable smorgasbord

by mrssippyriver



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Other, although they'll never admit it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26675047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrssippyriver/pseuds/mrssippyriver
Summary: They're a package deal, like the sticks of rock candy you bought in pairs from the sweetshop. Piss off one, you piss off both.
Relationships: Sebastian Michaelis & Ciel Phantomhive
Comments: 3
Kudos: 39





	Night is a veritable smorgasbord

The Undertaker had tossed Ciel through the air like a ragdoll and Sebastian had dove to catch him, twisted as they landed so Ciel was cushioned by his body. And he was in pain, such horrible agony, punctuated by his gasp as Ciel’s head thunked against his scythe wound. He just grasped him all the tighter. And Ciel was comforted, even as the _Campania_ slowly capsized and the Undertaker pranced.

Everything was a blur afterwards. The chill of the sea seeped into Ciel’s bones. Compounded by the frosty night air, he was ill now. But he would pull through.

Ciel twisted his fingers in the afghan fringe. Normally he would sleep under his goose down comforter and wool blankets, but his raging fever had left him overheated. Besides, this rainbow afghan was the cover Mother would always toss over his shoulders when he was ill like this. His memories after arriving home were a bit fuzzy, but he had the distinct recollection of ordering Sebastian to fetch the throw from his closet, even as his teeth chattered like castanets. It had been so important to his addled brain then that he couldn’t force down the chicken broth Sebastian plied him with. Eventually Sebastian caved and brought it to him. But here is what really rankled Ciel- as Sebastian bent to adjust the blanket about his shoulders, something cold dripped onto his nightclothes, which Ciel now realized to be seawater.

Sebastian had not changed out of his sodden uniform from the _Campania_. And he’d had time to do so- on board the rescue ship, here at home when the other servants were fussing over Ciel. If he had wanted to, he could have. Instead, he’d chosen to stay by Ciel’s side.

Maybe his memories were unclear, but there had always been a dark blur and smooth voice governing by him, up until finally waking now with a lucid mind.

So if Sebastian hadn’t even changed out of his clothes, he hadn’t been able to tend his wound for awhile either. Surely he would have by now- what time was it, anyway? Ciel sat up and squinted through the dark at his bedside clock. 10 pm. And they’d been home for a couple days, at least.

He laid back on his pillows. Besides, Sebastian healed far more quickly than humans. He was just fine, probably. Ready to resume tormenting and teaching him at turns. Just like before…

But that was the kicker. Ciel squirmed under the afghan. Even if Sebastian would behave as before, thinly veiled insults every second sentence and cutting side glances, Ciel couldn’t bring himself to go along with the farce and snap back.

Because that’s what it was. A farce.

Oh, he didn’t doubt that Sebastian resented the contract. Of course he did- it was a restraint that he chafed at, all the while forced to acknowledge its necessity. But as for disliking Ciel himself?

_A heavy black coat over his shoulders. Cool hand cupping his burning forehead. Spooned broth soothing his scratchy throat._

Seemed that he remembered more than he thought. Ciel shifted uncomfortably. Well, if nothing else, Sebastian was to be commended for his commitment to his duties. And he had been wrong to assume Sebastian would only perform the bare minimum. He wasn’t so proud as to deny that fact.

Ciel swung his legs over the bed and stood, marveling at the shakiness still lingering. He wasn’t fully recovered yet.

But neither was Sebastian. And if he could still go about, then so could Ciel. He jerked an arm through his dressing gown. It wouldn’t do for a Phantomhive to be upstaged by a servant.

* * *

The hissing of water through pipes heightened as Ciel meandered towards the kitchens, medical kit in hand. It was a given that Sebastian would still be working. He paused to brace himself against the kitchen door frame. Damned flu.

Perhaps alerted by the creak, Sebastian paused in soaping the dishes to glance behind him. Their eyes met.

Ciel managed a grim smile and pulled himself upright, so as not to appear weak.

“Sebastian,” his voice squeaked, and he gritted his teeth through the flush of embarrassment. Mercifully, Sebastian didn’t laugh. He just stood in place, staring at the medical case Ciel laid on the side table, before lifting his eyes to Ciel’s face.

And frowned. “My lord, you should be resting,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel. He moved to Ciel, lifting a hand to check his forehead. “You are still unwell-”

“Stop,” Ciel croaked, stepping back. The mucus rose up in his throat and he swallowed a cough. No more coddling, it was too discomfiting and made him pursue strange avenues. Like now. “You’re a fine one to talk.”

One delicate eyebrow arched as Sebastian assessed him. “My lord?”

“Your injury still isn’t healed, is it?”

Now Sebastian was looking at him very strangely indeed. “It is of no importance,” he said at last, almost haltingly. Then he seemed to regain footing. “That is, nothing that would command my lord’s attention. Playing nursemaid is beneath someone of your station-”

“So is permitting servants to speak out of turn.” That shut him up. “Let me see it.”

Sebastian studied him a moment more, then lowered his eyes and began untying his cravat. Ciel turned away from him and opened the kit.

Thankfully Tanaka, in one of his increasingly rare bursts of clarity, had advised Sebastian to implement basic first aid into Ciel’s study courses. Sebastian had had a grand old time mocking Ciel’s dismal attempts at setting splints and tying bandages. He seemed to think the role of teacher granted him the right to forego the mores of decorum and treat Ciel most disparagingly.

He tightened his lips at the memory. And yet he was an old hand at emergency care now. That was the story of their relationship: nothing could be easy or candid with them. Sebastian would always give Ciel what he wanted or needed in the end, along with plenty of vitriol for good measure. Ciel would give as good as he got. That was just them. He would meet the demon halfway, even if it meant dressing his wounds.

He selected a spool of bandages and some salve, and swung around to see Sebastian had unbuttoned his shirt. The halves hung open, exposing the Undertaker’s handiwork across his flat stomach.

Ciel set the supplies down, swallowing hard. Not because the lesion was unsightly. Something else entirely. It was a thin, curved incision that rounded Sebastian’s ribcage. It bled sluggishly, the only splash of color against Sebastian’s creamy skin. The curvature gave the appearance of a smile, and the droplets of blood lining the rim looked like teeth.

All in all, it reminded him of the Undertaker’s wide grin as he slipped into a waltz with his bizarre doll on the stairs. So impudent, so pleased with his own deception.

Ciel heard a dull ring in his ears. Undertaker, traitor! Imposter! Liar!

“Filthy...treacherous...BASTARD!”

Sebastian reared back in his chair. “Goodness! Such language, my lord!”

His voice cut through the haze and Ciel, panting, sagged forward. Almost in Sebastian’s lap, he clasped his shoulder weakly. Their foreheads knocked together, and there was a warm sensation through his robe as Sebastian’s hand steadied his back.

A blessed hush. Gradually, his heart slowed and still he leaned against Sebastian. He could almost hear the click of his eyelashes. Well, better that than the wails of the bizarre dolls.

Ciel opened his eyes. Point-blank like this, most people’s blemishes were magnified. But Sebastian was as flawless as freshly fallen snow.

They locked eyes, and maybe Ciel could credit his foggy brain for this, but he felt like he could read understanding and maybe even a little concern in Sebastian’s gaze.

That reassured him very much.

Yes, the Undertaker deserved to be hung from the yardarms of the _Campania_. No, that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon, since the nutcase had surely hidden himself more securely than an introverted clam. But it was ironic. For all the damage he had wrought, the Undertaker had distributed some good.

Because now he and Sebastian understood each other more- what lengths each will go to for the other, how deep their bond really runs.

They’re a package deal, like the sticks of rock candy you bought in pairs from the sweetshop. Piss off one, you piss off both.

With a deep sigh, he pulled away from Sebastian. The warm hand slowly slid from his back. “Let’s see to your wounds.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have a headcanon that even demons need some time to recover from a run-in with a death scythe, so that's why Sebastian was still hurting even after a couple days.  
> Feedback would be absolutely wonderful! Hit me with whatever you thought!


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